todays bird
Monterey Bay Aquarium
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
Cosmic Funnies
ojovivo
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Noah Kahan
Love Begins
noise dept.
Andulka
Xuebing Du
Fai_Ryy
pixel skylines
The Stonewall Inn
d e v o n
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
gracie abrams
cherry valley forever
NASA
shark vs the universe
seen from Iraq
seen from Iraq
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Belarus
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands
seen from Germany
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from India
@whumpandbandaids
Hey, so no hard feelings but I'm going to be unfollowing all the whump blogs I was following and probably deleting this blog. It's just a very unneeded stress in my life rn so uh yeah... see ya! My main is @frogsrfriends so follow/dm me there if you want! Thanks for all the great content!!
Just your regular whumpy night, thinking about the whumper shoving a gun into the whumpee's mouth and resting a finger just above the trigger...
Whump Prompt #279
“You told me you were okay.” The caretaker says through gritted teeth. “You promised me.”
The whumper hides the whumpee when someone comes over. The guest finds them and is horrified by the whumpee’s state.
Hey, sorry I’ve been gone so long but I have an excuse...
His name is Monty :)
Geralt & Jaskier + getting enraged on each other’s behalf.
Guro/Horror Asks
Decapitation: What was the dumbest thing you’ve done?
Amputation: Would you rather lose a body part or a sense (hearing, seeing, etc.)?
Torture: Do you enjoy pain?
Bleeding: What do you want out of your life?
Vomit: What was the worst thing you’ve seen?
Self-Harm: What do you dislike about yourself?
Body Horror: If you could change your appearance to anything you wish, what would you do?
Parasite: Are you attracted to strange things?
Bondage: What is the one person you trust the most?
Zombie: What’s the one thing you’re best at?
Conjoined Bodies: Who can’t you live without?
Weapons: What’s your favorite horror movie?
Vampire: What do you consider to be unhealthy?
Stitches: What’s something you’re glad that’s in the past?
Cannibalism: What would you want as a last meal?
Junji Ito: What do you like about guro and/or horror?
Let’s talk about hair whump
Hair that’s long enough to get a grip on, to yank the whumpees head wherever whumper want it to go
Hair that’s forcibly shorn short, leaving cuts and scrapes all over the scalp, done regularly enough to leave a smattering of scars all over their head
Leaving hair to grow long and unwieldy so that it drags and snags on things
Hair caught into the knot of a blindfold
Hair tugged painfully in the buckle of a gag
Hair caught in the gluey residue of duct tape that wraps around the head
Hair that falls into the whumpee’s eyes that they can never shake out of the way
Hair that’s long enough to hide their face behind, if only the whumper would let them turn away
Long strands tucked gently behind an ear in mock-care
Hair brushed aside with the tip of a blade or the barrel of a gun
Nicknames that they hate given out for the state or colour of their hair
Hair cut off as punishment, and knowing they’ll only be back in the whumpers good graces once enough time has passed that it’s grown back to the length they like
Hair burned and singed with matches in a whump session or burned part way off in an accident
Rushed hair cuts in the mirror once they’re free and can’t stand to see it the way the whumper wanted it
Sweet hair washing when they’re safe and rescued, massages on the scalp that they hold still and hope don’t turn harsh and clawing
Give me them all and more! Do you have a favourite? Did I miss any good ones?
Whumpy snippet #2
«Poor thing’s drugged out of its mind,» the man chuckles, grabbing B’s chin. He tilts the boy’s head upwards to reveal hazy, half lidded eyes and tear stained cheeks. «But don’t worry Sir,» the man continues. «it’ll wear off. This just makes them easier to contain.»
The man gently maneuvers B’s head to the side, to give a good look of his features. He meets no resistance, only a faint groan of protest from the boy. «Pretty ain’t he? Got him in just yesterday too.»
The customer smirks. «Truly exquisite.» he mutters. His gaze lingers on B’s limp form for a moment before turning to the man. «How much for this one?»
Your whump word(s) of the day
“Last stitch. You’re doing great, just keep your eyes on me.”
Getting to know Quin
I’ve been spending some time trying to get to know Quin, as he is by far my most difficult character to write for. Gems so far include:
Quin insisting he taller than he really is. (He says he’s 5′9″ and I’m like, you are 5′7″ if you stretch hunny)
Saying Quin is eighteen and he corrects me to say he is almost nineteen.
Trying to find Pic Crews to make Quin and immediately just going to hair colors to see if they have the right tealish blue. (Spoiler alert: They never have the right blue.)
“This one is pretty blue-” “Yeah but its light blue, its not dark enough.” “What about this?” “No thats too dark.” *sigh*
Also on picrew - ”Oh, they have a hoody, in black too!” ”Thats dark grey, its not black enough.” ”Its the blackest black they have.” ”Fiiinnne…”
Pinning Quin pins on Pinterest and my brain switching over to Quin pinning things he likes on Pinterest and suddenly his board is just snakes and how to take care of snakes.
Feeling like I need to download TikTok so I can better understand Gen z.
Trying to figure out if Quin is ace and Quin says “I don’t want to say that I’m ace cause maybe I’m not ace, maybe I just haven’t found somebody I like yet, and what if I say that I’m ace and then I turn out not to be ace and people think I was lying about being ace?”
Finding a picture of a cat in a hoody and saying “hey look its you” and Quin giving me the death glare.
Enjoy these pictures of Quin. None of which, feature, the right blue.
Quin: The Neighbor
(Taking place a few months into Quin’s initial captivity. TW: Referenced forced stripping. Whumper being a creep. Referenced starvation. Not believing a victim.)
“Get your hands the fuck off me!!” Quin screamed, fighting against the iron grip of Henry’s hands on his shoulders, trying to keep him from running for the door. Exactly what Quin had promised not to do if Henry brought him upstairs.
“Quinton-” The man’s grip slipped to his arm as he struggled, fingers digging into his bicep and rumpling the fabric of the pastel pink button down the man had put him in. Dressed up like his fucking doll. “Don’t call me that!” Quin kicked, trying to slam the paten leather loafers into the man’s shin. “Stop calling me that!”
“Quinton,” Henry repeated sternly, his voice dropping into an authoritarian tone. The grip on Quin’s bicep tightened as he was yanked back, the man’s other hand grabbing the fist that pounded against his chest as Quin tried to push him away. He squirmed, bucked, knowing he couldn’t break free but trying to make it as hard as fucking possible to hold onto him.
The wall slammed hard against his back, forcing the air from Quin’s lungs with a rush and tears into his eyes. The wall vibrated with the force, a picture swinging off its nail and crashed to the floor with a shatter of glass. Quin and Henry both looked down at the broken pieces, before their eyes locked back on each other.
“You promised you would be good,” Henry said in a tone of forced calmness, shaking Quin against the wall by his shoulders.
“And you promised you wouldn’t be a fucking creep!” Quin’s rebuttal came out in a rush, still trying to get air in his lungs and fighting the urge to start crying because he was trapped in this psyco’s house in the middle of fucking nowhere, and no-one knew the fuck he was here, and he was going to get murdered and probably eaten in some freakish cultish fuckery and no one would ever find his body and-
“Quinton!” Henry shook him again, snapping him out of the spiral of panic and Quin winced at the spike of pain as his spine scraped the wall. “All I asked was for you to get dressed in some proper clothes.”
“I look like an idiot! And you watched me change!”
Henry sighed and Quin knew he would have rubbed his forehead if he hadn’t been using both hands to hold him against the wall.
“There is nothing wrong with these clothes. You look like a proper young man and-”
“You know what you can fuck off with your fucking proper-”
ding dong
Keep reading
Simple pleasures
This is just a little idea that came to me, and I couldn't sleep until I wrote it. Have a little snippet of Maia's life as she enjoys one of her favourite pastimes: making people suffer. Thanks to @beckstriad for naming Taylor, and to @pythagoreanwhump for all the knife inspiration ;)
Maia looks up from her desk when she hears the knock at her door. Beckoning whoever it is inside, she watches as two of her ladies drag between them a bound and gagged figure, dropping them to the floor unceremoniously. She stands up from where she was sitting, heels clicking ominously on the tiled floor as she comes to observe them. They are young, around nineteen if she had to guess, with soft hair that half covers their eyes, wide with fear, and she notices that they are trembling slightly where they kneel.
"We found them sneaking around the place," one of the ladies explains. "Thought you might like... a word," she continues with a knowing smile.
"I do indeed," Maia replies, congratulating her employees with a pat on the shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like some time alone with them," she concludes with a grin, as the others turn to leave.
"You really a darling, aren't you?" she coos, crouching down to look her captive in the eye. Their gaze is cast downwards, onto the pristine floor, and she relishes the way their shoulders shake with every hitched breath. "Look at me," she instructs, tilting the kid's chin up with her fingers and brushing the hair out of their eyes. She sees now how they glimmer with unshed tears, and she smiles.
Even without the ropes tying their wrists and ankles together, she doesn't think that they would dare to run. She wants to ask them a few questions, but she has a feeling that the moment she rips off the tape covering their mouth, they'd start talking. No, she leaves the gag alone. No need to cut her fun short. Instead, she draws out a blade from her inner pocket, opening it with a satisfying click and angling it towards them in a way that makes the light glint off its surface.
It's a beautiful knife, one of her favourites, with a thin black handle and a simple silver blade, soon to turn crimson with blood. As soon as her captive sees it, they tense up, shaking their head and making muffled noises of panic from behind the gag. She winds a hand into their hair, petting it gently in an attempt to soothe them.
"Shh, there's nothing to be so upset about," she tells them softly. "At least wait until I've started." At that, their eyes screw shut in anticipation, and they quieten slightly, though she can still see their involuntary trembling. She strokes the flat of her blade over their neck, smirking as they flinch at its cold touch, but she doesn't dig it in just yet. This is a pleasure in itself.
Slowly, she drags the tip of the knife along their shirt, tearing it in half, but making sure to not tarnish the pristine skin underneath. They open their eyes then at the lack of pain, and she sees in them confusion and a raw desperate hope. How satisfying it will be to crush it.
Finally, she lets the blade bite into flesh. She drags a thin, red line down her captive's arm, and they begin to sob, whimpering slightly from behind the gag. It sounds like they're trying to beg, and she wonders if she should oblige them. It's been so long since she's had someone so pathetic to enjoy that she almost wonders what nonsense they will spill out when the dam is removed.
Slowly, making sure that it will hurt, Maia unpeels the tape sealing her captive's lips. They begin to plead before she's even finished, barely coherent begging tumbling out.
"Please, I'm so sorry. Don't hurt me Ma'am, please. I didn't want to do it. I had no choice." Their voice shakes and wavers with such sincerity that she doesn't doubt that they are telling the truth.
She slaps them, hoping that a hard backhand across the face will at least silence them so she can talk. "What's your name?" she demands, before anything else.
"Taylor, Ma'am, Taylor Whitley. Please, you have to believe me, I didn't see anything, I swear." Another slap, then silence.
"Who sent you?" she continues her interrogation.
"I-it was my boss, he didn't give me any choice. He... he'll hurt me if I fail. Please, you can just let me go. I'll suffer as it is," they manage to stutter out.
"I want a name, not a sob story," she almost shouts.
"It's Jerome, Jerome Knoles, Ma'am," they get out between sobs. "Please, he'll kill me if he finds out I told you."
"Oh, and who says I won't kill you first?" she smirks, enjoying the way they pale at that, beginning to plead with renewed vigour.
"Please, don't kill me, I can't bear to die yet, please. I want to see my family again, I want to see the Sun. Please don't let this be the end, Ma'am." They look so resigned, even as they beg her for their life, and she is almost moved. It's been a while since she's had anyone so good at begging.
"You should be careful what you wish for," she says instead. "Most people beg for death before I'm done with them." At these words, they look as if they are about to faint, and that would be a nuisance she doesn't want to deal with, so she's quick to reassure them.
"Don't worry, I have no plans to end your life," she sighs. It would have been an added bonus, and she can't help but wonder what sounds they would have made as she plunged the knife into their chest or dragged it across their throat. But she has to remind herself that there is more at stake here than just enjoyment.
"You're going to send a message to your boss," she explains with some finality. Their gaze follows her as she stands to walk behind them, but they don't dare to make another sound. Not yet.
Removing the torn shreds of their shirt to fully clear her canvas, Maia places her blade onto their skin, and begins to carve. It takes a while, but she does not notice the time pass, lost in the satisfying parting of the flesh, the trickle of blood and her captive's cries and broken screams. At times, she almost wonders if she should replace the tape. They're being ever so noisy. But then again, her friends are probably enjoying the sounds from behind her door, so she lets it be.
When she is done, there are three clear words on Taylor's back. "Stay away, signed Maia." She wipes the blade on their cheek, trailing it over their lips before she flicks it closed. They lick at them, face scrunching in disgust at the metallic taste of their own blood, and she can't help but laugh.
"That's it, all done." She stands, dusting off her trousers, and calling out for someone to collect the kid. "Well done," she pats them on the head. "I enjoyed that very much. It's a shame you didn't seem to." Turning to her employees, now standing patiently inside her office she adds, "Show our guest the way out. And make sure they get home safely."
Oh wow
ultimately i think we all want someone who will tenderly wipe the blood off our face
Favorite rescue tropes?
When the rescuer has to walk though increasingly disturbing hints of what the whumpee has been through
When they finally see the whumpee and have to catch their breath, or hold back tears, or swallow nausea or a raw, aching cry for the state of the whumpee
When their first touch is shaking, butterfly-light fingers against the side of the whumpee’s face
When their first word is the whumpee’s name, whispered on the edge of a broken, cracking exhale
When the whumpee is unresponsive to that first word and touch, save to flinch, either because they are unconscious or because they have forgotten the rescuer along with everything else that is kind or good
When the whumpee feels different in the rescuer’s arms, when they are lighter or when misshapen, misaligned joints or the knobby protrusions of poorly healed bones jut in malingering protest against the thin and wasted prison of their flesh
When the rescuer keeps it together through the return, through the first stretch of tending to the whumpee’s wounds, and until the whumpee slips into their first exhausted sleep, only to break down in someone else’s arms, feeling the full maelstrom of horror and grief that they couldn’t voice until now wring through them
When the whumpee wakes up from that first sleep and sees the rescuer, red-eyed and wan but calm, and realizes for the first time that they are safe
